One to Take (One to Hold 8)

I go to the couch near his seat. “Yes, it was a diagnosis about me.”

“Hmm,” he nods as he assesses me. He takes the folder I brought and begins to read. “After that much time, it’s impossible to think I might remember anything specific about your case.”

“I understand, but if you could try. It would mean a lot to me.”

He continues scanning, occasionally reading under his breath. Slayde sits beside me on the sofa, water in hand, and he reaches over to squeeze my arm. I glance up at him with a grateful smile. He arranged this meeting. He found this doctor and convinced him to give us a few minutes today. I can’t thank him enough.

Time ticks slowly past, and I’m starting to lose hope I’ll get any satisfaction here today when the old man grunts and makes a positive sound.

“Oh, yes,” he says. “I remember this. Little girl, admitted for Reye’s syndrome. It seems your grandmother gave you aspirin when you had a fever, and you didn’t respond well.”

“I don’t remember that from the notes I had.” I scoot forward.

“It’s right here,” he says, turning the folder so I can see it. Sure enough aspirin with fever is noted. “Looks like when you got to the hospital, however, the nurses had reason to believe something additional was going on. They were concerned you might have an autoimmune disorder, so they ordered blood work.”

“I read something about HERV-X, a retrovirus?”

The doctor pokes his lips out as he continues reading. “Very controversial. The suggestion that a virus might be the cause of mental illness.”

My voice trembles as I speak. “I need to know if that happened to me. I need to know if something’s wrong with my mind

. If I should be preparing for a psychotic break.”

His eyes flicker up to my face. “You’re asking for something I can’t tell you today.”

“Oh.” I exhale, allowing my shoulders to fall.

The man uncrosses his leg and sits straighter in his chair. “What are you hoping to find, Miss Heron?”

“I don’t know. All of this is new to me. I came home and discovered this folder.” Shaking my head, I try to make sense of the turn my life has taken. “I just need to know who I really am… If I’m stable.”

“I’m not a psychiatrist. I can’t give you that sort of comfort.”

His lack of bedside manner reinforces his point, I think ruefully. “I’m not expecting you to do that, but if you could give me your honest opinion… at least I’ll know what I’m up against.”

The man’s hands go to the arms of his chair, and he pushes himself to standing. Slayde and I both stand as well.

“The notes I have here aren’t enough for me to give you the answers you want. I’ll have to go back and do additional research.” Studying me, he pauses. “But you haven’t had any additional experiences or problems since this diagnosis was made?”

“I was six when this happened,” I say quietly. “I don’t have a very good memory of what was going on, which worries me.”

“The drugs you were given were powerful sedatives. It’s natural you wouldn’t remember much from this time.”

“Still, I want to know if you stand by your diagnosis, or if you think it might have been something else.”

“You’re asking a lot, Miss Heron. You’re asking me if I might have made a mistake.”

“I only want peace of mind Dr. Endicott. I’m not looking to cause any trouble.”

Slayde steps forward, extending his hand. “We’re going to head back to Princeton. You have Mariska’s number to call?”

“Yes, I believe I do.” The doctor tentatively shakes Slayde’s hand.

“We’ll expect to hear from you by the middle of next week if not sooner.” Slayde’s tone is firm, and I’m thankful that he won’t let this drag on forever.

“I’ll do what I can,” the man says, and we’re heading for the door.

Once outside, we stand for a moment looking across the empty lot separating Dr. Endicott’s house from the Atlantic Ocean. A strong blast of wind pushes my short hair away from my face, and I inhale the scent of the sea.